


Remedy

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: Steter Week 2020 [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eichen | Echo House, Left Hand Peter Hale, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Murder, Pre-Relationship, Psychic Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25650526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: Eichen House is a dead end. Peter knows that as soon as they drag him into the cell. He spends six lonely months there, until Stiles suddenly appears, telling him: "I need you to kill someone."
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Steter Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855330
Comments: 24
Kudos: 507
Collections: Steter Week 2020





	Remedy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Steter Week 2020 Day Six: Pack of Two

Eichen House is a dead end. 

Peter knows that as soon as they drag him into the cell. He knows although he’s so drugged up, he can barely keep his eyes open and his mind consists of jumbled pieces of thoughts. When the fog lifts a bit, he hates True Alpha Scott McCall for his stupid morals and his naive belief that he can save everyone and everything. Because he’s quite sure, there’s more than one person who told the teenager to just get rid of Peter once and for all. If Peter would have been in the state of voting, he definitely would have chosen death over being locked up in this madhouse to rot away. 

He has a lot of time to think about it now. He has been trapped with only his mind as company before. It didn’t turn out pretty. This won’t either, he thinks.

The first thing Peter loses, is track of timing. With no windows and the lights always on, until someone decides to abruptly switch them off, there is no way to tell which day it is. The next things that bid their goodbye, are his senses. He’s sure they are drugging the water and food. On top, there’s always the smell of wolfsbane around. It’s getting hard to smell anything else. 

The wolf is always subdued. At least that means, Peter can’t develop the same kind of ferocity he developed while being in the coma. The all consuming burning rage that made the wolf’s aura black and withering, the rage that faded everything out beside the will for vengeance. He can neither find the strength nor willpower for that now. 

But he can still be angry. With all the time he has, he eventually even directs some of the anger towards himself. A part of him really wanted the life he tried to develop after returning from the death. Sure, it was tedious to bow to a teenage boy that was supposed to be his Beta, but at least, he was left alone for the most time, able to catch up with the time he lost. There were many things he hated about life, but there were also some things he really liked. Proper food, his books or sex. He always took care to be discreet about the latter. He only hooked up with people he met three towns away from Beacon Hills. Sometimes, he even thought about re-starting his career as lawyer. 

However, that is only a part of him. The other part was forged in the fire that consumed his family, and it is vicious, there was no other word for it. That other part of him hated everything about being barely more than an Omega, barely accepted by the pack now ruling Beacon Hills, only seeked out if they had no other choice. Because that wasn’t him. He was a born werewolf and his family owned this land. Beacon Hills has always been Hale territory and how dared this stupid teenage boy, who he mistakenly bit when he was out of his mind and barely more than an animal, to act like he was the king of this town? It wasn’t right.

Scott is a soft and way too young Alpha. He knows nothing about the century old werewolf etiquette, about pack dynamics or treaties. He doesn’t understand that a pack needs a left hand that protects it and deals with threats. He doesn’t and will never understand that some threats acquire violence, that sometimes, there’s no other choice than wiping the threat out. Because of Scott, every supernatural being knows Beacon Hills is an easy target. It's the territory of an Alpha not able to keep his own pack balanced. This part of Peter thinks, he would have done the pack and the town a favour. 

The dilemma is, that he can never really decide, which part is right. Right and wrong seem to have been literally burned out of him, lost in the fire raging in his own mind. And he knows he’s not stable, he knows perfectly fine that he will never be whole again. Once, he thought he would be whole again, when he was an Alpha, with his own proper and strong pack, with Derek at his side like it was in the past, but he knows now, that was an illusion. He should have left the town years ago. He should have found a lonely place for himself, somewhere where even an Omega could live in peace, left alone by hunters and the past.  
  
Now it’s too late. Now, he can be forever stuck in a battle with his two sides, forever stuck with thinking how it could or should have been. _I should have won. I was too weak_ , fights, _I should have run before I knew Kate was still alive_. But that’s not even the worst. The worst is, that his brief meeting with Valack somehow broke down the wall in his mind, that hid the memories Talia took from him. It’s all back. Every little thing. And it’s haunting him.  
  


Once, he remembers how he challenged Talia. It was more for fun than a serious attempt to claim her Alpha spark, at least Peter thought so. Talia seemed to think it was pretty serious. She was using more of her Alpha shift and strength than usual. 

They rolled over the forest floor, all striking claws and snapping fangs. Peter had been trained to be a left hand from early age and he was strong. Talia knew that. An Alpha wasn’t necessarily required to fight battles. Not when there was no war with another pack or problems with hunters. Had they fought seriously, Peter might have won. He might have taken the Alpha spark from her. But when Talia pinned him with a hand around his throat, her eyes crimson and her growl too loud to be only a warning, he stopped fighting, grinning up at her. “Come on, Talia. It’s only a game …”

She glared, not loosening her grip. “I’m not an idiot, Peter. I know you. I have seen your eyes when mother passed the Alpha spark to me on her sickbed. Don’t lie to me. You want to be Alpha way too much. More than you should.”  
  
Peter snarled. “And why shouldn’t I want it? I am strong. I know everything about our kind. I learned. I could be every bit the Alpha you are.” 

Talia’s eyes filled with a certain kind of sadness. Peter hated it. “You don’t have to prove anything to me or to anyone else in the pack,” she sighed. “You know I love you. Don’t let our parents’ words get to you too much.”

Peter just turned his head away, avoiding her eyes. His heart was pounding. He knew exactly what she meant. Their parents didn’t want him. On good days, he was a “surprise”, on others, he was a “mistake”. He was never good enough, no matter what he did, while Talia was the moon in their eyes. The to-be Alpha, already mother of three wonderful pups. 

Peter loved his sister who often acted way more than a mother because he was too young for her, but on some days, he couldn’t push the jealousy he felt when he looked at her away. And it burned. “Let me go,” he snarled, struggling in her grip. 

Talia hesitated. For a moment, Peter thought she would force him to submit and his face burned. But then, she took her hand away and got up, shaking her head and watching him scrambling to stand up. She walked away after softly touching his shoulder for a volatile moment. 

  
Peter knows why Talia took these and more memories from him. He knows she loved him but she also was afraid. She was scared he would go a path that led him so far away, she couldn’t reach him anymore, so she made an ugly decision and took precautions. He now remembers the way she looked at him before she digged her claws into his neck, the guilt in her eyes, the regret. 

And she wasn’t wrong, he thinks bitterly, staring up at the eversame grey ceiling above him. Apparently, he was born to be the thorn in everyone’s eye. 

Days and nights pass without a change. Apart from the man that brings him water and food twice a day, he doesn’t see anyone. At least for a long while. One day - or is it night? - Peter awakes from a nightmare to the smell of wolfsbane gas. He doesn’t even have time to react before he passes out. When he comes to, he’s back in the cell, but his hands and his mouth ache. He’s confused for a moment, before he looks at his hands and sees the dried blood on some of the fingers. He discovers an almost healed puncture on his elbow and gets it. They’re taking samples. Blood, claws, a tooth. Of course. Why shouldn’t they exploit the fact that they have a bunch of supernatural creatures in their basement no one cares about? Of course they experiment. He isn’t at all surprised about it. He just wishes, someone would at least tell him what they're doing with the samples they're taking. He's so fucking bored. 

The cloud of wolfsbane gas comes in regular intervals. Due to the little to no packbonds he has, he’s healing only sluggishly, but he gets used to the ache in his fingers and mouth. Gets used to the dizziness after they took his blood.  
  
This goes on for a long while. 

* * *

One day, Stiles appears out of nowhere. 

Peter only notices him, when he is standing right in front of the glass. His nose is practically blind by now. First, he is sure that Stiles is a hallucination. Peter has had some of those. He blames the drugs. Once, he hallucinated Talia. Her face was burned and her hair gone. She stared at him with disappointment in her eyes.

But then, Stiles says, “You look like shit” and Peter is at least 80% sure he’s real. He stares at Stiles and frowns. “You don’t look like sunshine and roses either.” His voice is hoarse from disuse. Stiles just chuckles. He has heavy dark bags under his red-rimmed eyes. It looks like Stiles hasn't slept properly in days. His hair is ruffled and his clothes look crumpled. They are too loose. Stiles is even skinnier now than he was before. 

“They wouldn’t let me see you. Always said you’re too unstable to receive visitors. So I sneaked in,” Stiles says, shifting his weight.  
  
Of course. Peter isn’t surprised. Not surprised they didn’t let Stiles in and not a little bit surprised about Stiles finding a way inside anyway. But he asks himself what Stiles is doing here. Surely, this isn’t just a “Hey I wanted to see how you are” visit. Not for him. “What are you doing here, Stiles?” He asks. 

For the first time, Stiles hesitates. Something dark flickers over his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is subdued, almost like he doesn't want to say the words out loud. “I need you to kill someone.” 

Oh. This is interesting. Peter gets up from the cot and walks towards the glass separating them, swaying a bit. Stiles doesn’t flinch. “You want me to kill someone? My, Stiles. What about the morals your Alpha loves so much?” 

Stiles scoffs. “Scott doesn’t know about this. I’m on my own.” 

This makes things even more interesting. Peter gets more and more curious. He has been alone with his own thoughts, memories and nightmares for so long, and now, there is finally some stimulation. “What happened, Stiles?” _What happened to you?_

“I’ll tell you. After we get out of this hellhole,” Stiles mumbles, rummaging around in the backpack he brought with him. 

And that’s when Peter realizes, Stiles is actually about to let him out. _Out_. He’s not going to rot in this cell. His wolf stirs for the first time in quite a long while and Peter starts pacing, waiting impatiently while Stiles is fiddling with something at the side of the glass wall Peter can’t see. He figures, it’s the lock. Stiles frowns and curses under his breath while he works, the tip of his tongue barely visible between his lips. Peter growls quietly. What if someone will come … “Almost,” Stiles tells him absently. “Almost … Ha.” 

He is able to push the glass door open enough for Peter to slip out. He does, too eager to escape the small space he has spent what felt like eternity in. Stiles looks at him and he starts to smell anxious. Peter tilts his head. “What is it, Stiles? Do you think this was a bad idea, now?” Before Stiles can answer, Peter chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you. I think you should know better by now.” 

Stiles knows he’s right. Peter could have killed him back then in the hospital. Or later, when he and the other teenagers were annoying him while he tried to get his pack together. Or when they were alone in Derek’s loft. There were many opportunities. But Peter never wanted to harm Stiles. He doesn’t want to do it now either, although he can feel that he’s balancing on the fine line between sane and insane again. He knows that line so well. 

He likes Stiles. Likes his wit and charm, his way to do things. He may even like Stiles a bit too much. It's a weakness. There's no place in his messed up life for such things.

After a long look into Peter’s eyes, Stiles nods curtly and clears his throat. “Let’s get out of here before someone notices.” 

“I don’t want to be a bummer, but did you think of the mountain ash barriers?” Peter asks. 

Stiles suddenly grins. He takes something out of his backpack. It’s a bottle with a strange light brown thick liquid in it. “You’re going to hate this,” he tells Peter and hands him the bottle. Peter frowns at it. He opens it and smells at the contents, getting angry when he barely can smell anything but wolfsbane. “Really?” He asks Stiles, arching his brows. 

Stiles shrugs. “Sorry, but that’s the only way to get you through the mountain ash. I read some books and did a lot of research. It’s a combination of wolfsbane, and some other herbs. It should make you seem almost human to the mountain ash. I don’t know for sure if it’s going to work and it's supposed to hurt like hell, but well. If you want out, you’ll have to take the risk.”  
  
Peter looks at the liquid and sighs. He definitely won't go back into the cell. So he raises the bottle and gulps everything down. As soon as he’s done, he feels a burning sensation in his stomach. He grimaces when the pain gets stronger and he can hear his wolf howling, retreating to a far corner of his mind. So far, he almost disappears. Peter feels sick. He wants to bend over and vomit, but Stiles pulls at his arm urgently. “Come on. We’ll have to get outside, then I’ll give you an antidote.”  
  
Peter doesn’t really think about it. He just lets Stiles pull him forward. They pass the mountain ash barriers and all Peter feels while doing it, is another sharp pain, pulling at his body like the fire once did. He keeps himself from crying out by biting his lip so hard, he tastes blood. He can’t help but wonder. When did Stiles get so … good at this? 

Stiles seems to know a secret entrance or something. They pass a strange hallway filled with empty bottles, and come to a hole in the wall. Stiles pushes him into it and Peter has to duck his head. He feels breathless and is floating in pain. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep himself upright on his shaking legs. Stiles is still pulling him forward. But now, he can smell something else than wolfsbane and blood. He can smell fresh air. The thought of _outside_ gives him the little bit of extra strength he needs. 

And finally, they fall into cool grass and Peter sees the sky for the first time in ages. It’s clear and starry. He stares and inhales the air greedily, while clutching at his stomach. He feels like he’s burning from the inside. “Here,” Stiles gasps, handing him another bottle. “Drink this. Now.” 

Peter doesn’t ask or hesitate. He’s at Stiles’ mercy. He has to trust him. He gulps that liquid down as well and feels almost immediately, how it starts to push the wolfsbane out. This hurts as well. Everything hurts. 

Stiles pulls at him urgently. Impatiently. “Come on, I parked over there …”

The next moments are a blur. Somehow, Peter ends up in Stiles’ jeep. Stiles doesn’t hesitate to drive away from Eichen House, drumming a restless rhythm on the steering wheel and glancing into the rearview mirror until the building disappears. 

* * *

“How long have I been down there?” Peter asks Stiles, when he’s finally halfway lucid again. Whatever Stiles gave him burned the drugs right out of him. 

“For six months,” Stiles says, looking straight ahead while driving. 

Half a year. Peter almost wants to laugh. Six years in a coma. Six months in Eichen House. Six seems to be his cursed number. 

“You said you want me to kill someone. Who?” 

Stiles’ eyes become dark again. His hands tighten around the steering wheel. “Gerard Argent.” He spits the name out like it’s a curse word. 

“Gerard Argent,” Peter repeats, drawing the name out. Interesting. One of the remaining Argents. Compelling. Gerard had nothing to do with the fire, but he’s still a hateful bastard who would wipe out the whole supernatural world if he could. “Why?” 

Stiles sighs heavily. He stops the car on the side of the street, pulling two bottles of water out from somewhere. He offers Peter one and he takes it gratefully. When he opens the bottle, he still smells at it. It’s a habit by now. Stiles’ water doesn’t smell drugged. Peter gulps it down in two huge sips. Stiles drinks his own water slower and is silent for a long moment. Finally, he says, “I know what he’s going to do. I saw it. But no one … no one wants to believe me.” He looks hurt. 

Peter frowns. “What do you mean, you saw it?” 

Stiles grimaces. He grips his own right hand, squeezing it, then he taps every finger once, like he’s counting them silently. “Since the Nogitsune … Something changed. I’m having these nightmares. Only, they are not exactly dreams.” He looks up at Peter, his eyes wide. “They are premonitions.” 

Peter arches his brows. And just like that, Stiles is even more fascinating. “Are you sure?”

Stiles nods curtly. He looks pained. And dead tired. “They are premonitions. Often mixed into actual nightmares. Suddenly, I had all these weird déjà vu moments. I told Scott about them, but he didn’t want to listen. He especially didn’t want to listen, when I started to dream about Gerard.” 

Stiles scowls. “Scott is sometimes going to him, trading information for pain relief. Gerard _hates_ werewolves. He is going to turn on us. It’s only a matter of time. And then he’s going to kill people. Wolves, other supernatural beings. Even humans, if they’re in packs or connected to anyone supernatural. He’s going to kill so many people. And he’s going to find someone who will continue his fight even when he’s dead and buried. Someone who will carry his hate across the country.” 

Stiles shudders. He looks at Peter and raises both hands. “I had more than one dream about Gerard. I saw him killing Brett Talbot. I saw him training new hunters. Saw him handing weapons to _teenagers_ I know. He’s preparing a war. And no one wants to stop him. No one wants to fucking _listen_. I hate these dreams I have. It’s fucking scary. I haven't had a good night's rest in ages. But … if I’m psychic now, I’ll have to use it, to protect the people I still care about. I won't let them die, even if they don't listen to me. You … You are a left hand. I read everything about pack dynamics in the last few weeks. You protected your pack from threats, right? You wiped them out, before they could cause disasters?” 

Peter nods slowly. “I did. And I was very good at it." So good, that he earned himself a reputation reaching to the other end of the country.  
  
Stiles looks at him grimly. “Will you help me wipe out Gerard, before he causes a disaster in the supernatural world?” 

Peter doesn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he says. “I will.”  
  
Stiles relaxes. He looks exhausted. “Good.” 

Peter looks Stiles over curiously. He’s fascinated. He never met an actual psychic. He knows though, that the dreams, the premonitions, come like waves. Sometimes, there’s nothing. Sometimes, there’s a lot. “Stiles,” he asks, not able to contain his curiosity. “Did you dream about me too?” 

Stiles looks at him and bites his lip. “I did.” 

“What did you see?” Peter asks eagerly. 

Stiles hesitates. He shakes his head. “I won’t tell you yet. Later.”  
  
Peter is about to protest. But something in Sitles’ eyes stops him. “Fine,” he says. “But if I am supposed to help you keeping your own precious hands clean, I’m going to want something in return.” 

Stiles snorts. He gestures tiredly with one hand. “Of course. Of course you do. What?” 

“My freedom. After Gerard is dead, you’re going to let me walk away.” Peter is going to do what he should have done years ago. He’s going to leave this town that doesn't want him and try again somewhere else. Maybe, he’s going to seek out Deucalion. At least he would be an Alpha who knows the value of a strong left hand.

Stiles looks somewhat relieved. He expected something else, obviously. “Alright.” 

Peter nods, satisfied. “So … How do we find Gerard?” 

Stiles smiles weakly. “I already found him.” He starts the motor. 

Peter smirks and leans back in his seat. He can already feel the wolf crawling at the walls of his mind, eager to hunt, eager to bury his teeth in flesh. Eager to spill blood. And somewhere deep down, eager to please Stiles. 

* * *

Everyone in the supernatural community knows Gerard Argent survived so long, because he’s always careful. He has protected the little house he bought well. But he obviously didn't really consider a human threat. It’s easy for Stiles, to break the mountain ash barriers.  
  
They find the old man sitting upright in bed, already holding one of his weapons. “You,” he snarls when he sees Peter. His eyes widen when he discovers Stiles behind the wolf. “And the Stilinski boy. You’re working together with this monster? I thought you’re smarter than that …”

“I only see one monster in this room,” Stiles says quietly. “And I know what you’re planning. I saw it all. I won’t let you kill my friends. I won't let you kill anyone. Never again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Gerard spits, but there’s surprise in his eyes and his heart stutters. 

“I think you do,” Stiles says, as if he noticed the lie as well. Maybe, he did. There’s something dark and supernatural in the human now too. He looks at Peter and nods barely noticeable. _Do it._

And Peter is no dog. He doesn’t take orders from anyone. Not anymore. But Stiles nods and he feels the urge to follow. He roars and jumps, avoiding Gerard’s shots. The man has just woken up from deep sleep, is confused and slowed down by his illness. He’s not really a match. It’s over in a moment. When Peter sinks his fangs into flesh and tears it apart, the wolf sings. He loves it. 

Stiles watches from the side, his eyes wide, but not filled with fear. “What about the body?” He asks. 

“You’re going to burn it,” Peter tells him.

And Stiles nods. 

* * *

The house burns together with all the weapons hidden in the basement and the body in the bedroom. The flames rise high into the night sky. Stiles and Peter watch them from afar, leaning against the jeep. 

“Where are you going to go?” Stiles asks him, his voice very calm and his arms crossed.

Peter hums. “Maybe I’m going to find Deucalion and ask him if he needs a left hand. Or I’m going to find a lonely place for myself.” He glances at Stiles. “You could come with me. Someone with your skills would always be highly valued by a proper wolf pack.” _Or by me._ "You would make an excellent emissary." 

Stiles looks at him surprised. “You would want me to go with you? Really?”  
  
Peter nods and smiles. “I said it before. I like you Stiles.”  
  
Stiles looks at him for a moment longer, then stares back to the flames. His eyes reflect their dance. “I’m going to think about it,” he finally says, barely audible.  
  
Peter hears it. And he nods.

* * *

Two days later, Beacon Hills is far behind them. 

It’s a silent night. Peter takes over the steering wheel to let Stiles sleep for a few hours. He looks at him from time to time and thinks, that Stiles is not fully whole himself, that he's battling himself too often enough. He wonders if Stiles is dreaming right now. If he has one of his premonitions.

Stiles is so different now. It reminds Peter of how different he was after the fire and the coma. He thinks that Stiles didn't only get him out of Eichen House because of Gerard. Maybe, it was also, because Stiles felt as lonely as Peter did. It always felt good, felt right to talk to Stiles. To have him in his apartment, to watch him turning the pages of a old book carefully, or to hear him moaning in delight while eating Peter's pancakes. Stiles had always looked at him with respect and a hint of understanding. Maybe, Stiles got him out because he was tired of this life as well and tried to build a new one. Maybe.

Maybe, they're not so different after all.

There are stories hidden in Stiles eyes. In the way he always rubs and squeezes his hands. Stories about why he left his home behind so easily. Peter wants to hear them one day. He can tell Stiles stories back in return. Stories about not belonging. About never feeling good enough. And about doing the dirty work for years without ever getting something back in return.  
  
Peter doesn’t know where the way is going to lead them. But maybe, that’s not a bad thing. Sometimes, not knowing makes the end of the story better. 

* * *

  
“This is what I saw,” Stiles tells Peter, when they’re at the ocean, looking at the little flat standing there. “I saw us. Here.”  
  
Stiles saw a new beginning, Peter realizes. He can feel the bond between them. Still fresh, but strong and golden. When he rubs his cheek against Stiles' neck carefully to scent mark him, Stiles doesn't flinch away. Instead, he sighs and raises a hand to run it through Peter's hair. And just like that, the wolf calms a little. Peter hasn't been touched in a kind way for years. Maybe, he wonders, it takes two people with a soul broken in two parts, to set each other together again.   
  
And Peter starts to think, that this is what he should be doing. What could satisfy him. He should be a left hand, protecting his pack of two. 

So he does. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ignores Season 5 and Oops, Stiles prevented Season 6 from happening.
> 
> ~ I always love to hear what you are thinking about the story! ❤
> 
> Say hi on [Tumblr](https://for-the-love-of-wolves.tumblr.com/)  
> :)


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